


Weaving Bonds

by SapphyreLily



Series: Iwaizumi Week 2016 [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Team Play, a liiiittle bit of angst, follows canon mostly up to uni, introspective fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi Week Day 6 - University/Role Model/Teammates</p><p>A study of what it's like to be on a team, and what teammates are for in 8 different acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weaving Bonds

_Act I._

On his seventh birthday, Oikawa got a volleyball.

He came rushing over, babbling on and on about setting up a net in your backyard because _Mine has stargazing equipment in it; it’s dangerous to play near them. What if we break them?_

Your fathers set up a net just like he asked, and the two of you spent hours watching videos and trying to recreate moves.

He wanted to be a setter. That meant you had to be a spiker. After all, you were a team, and it took two hands to shake.

His first sets were terrible. But so were your spikes.

Your serves, too, sucked. But he never gave up trying, which meant you couldn’t either. If you went off for a break without him, he wouldn’t remember to take a break. You soon found out that he _did_ faint from exhaustion and dehydration after one too many plays, and you could never leave him alone after that.

x.x.x.x.x

It was fun to play volleyball.

When you managed to copy the move exactly right and hit the ball over the net, both of you whooped so loudly that your mothers told you to shut up.

It was fun to play with _him_.

He knew how to toss the ball to you just right, and you gave him the ball in exactly the way he preferred it. The two of you were perfectly synchronised, like well-oiled gears turning together.

It was fun to play with just the two of you, but you remembered from all the videos that volleyball was played by _six_ people, not two.

You began to grow curious about what it would be like to play with more.

_Act II._

_Squeak, squeak._

The sound of rubber soles on polished wood. The back row receivers adjusted their positions to receive the serve.

_Whoosh. Pak._

The sound of a ball tossed into the air, light footsteps, and the squeak of a shoe as the server launched himself off the ground. The slightest _whoosh_ as his arm travelled through the air, palm meeting ball with a hollow smack.

_Squeak. Thud._

The sound of the server landing, running to join the rest of the team. A dull smack as a receiver stopped the ball’s trajectory, sent it back to the setter.

“Sorry, it’s a bit short!”

“Cover!”

_Whoosh._

The setter reacted fast, repositioning himself under the falling ball. His fingertips barely touched the ball before it was redirected to the nearest open spiker.

“Iwa-chan!”

_Squeak. Whoosh. Pam!_

The squeak of your shoe as you jumped, the whoosh as your arms helped to propel you upwards and travel through the motion of spiking. The millisecond that the ball was cradled in your palm before your momentum slammed it down on the opposite side of the net, bypassing blockers and too fast for receivers to catch.

_“Yeah!”_

The victory cry of a spike well done, of a point well-earned.

_Slap. Smack._

“Let’s get another one!”

The knock of bony knuckles against your own, the sting of a palm or fingers as they passed by and your formation rotated.

_Huff. Pant._

Heavy breathing, both with excitement and fatigue. Your eyes watched the opponent carefully even as you hung back, sinking into your receiving stance with arms low and spread, knees bent. Your actions allowed the taller two to block while you covered their backs.

_Whoosh. Thud._

The play for the next point began.

_Act III._

You liked playing on a team. It was interesting, it was cool, and the dynamic of different individuals with different abilities and idiosyncrasies working together smoothly made you smile. It was different from your backyard with its small net and small ball, and only Oikawa to practice with.

Here, you could reach out and link players together, shifting them and encouraging them to work on their weak points while building up on their strengths. Here, you were a team leader, someone whose opinion mattered, someone whose ability was exceptional.

You would always stand in the shadow of greater powers, but that was okay. Your job was to ground people, not to help them fly.

Funny analogy, given your position as wing spiker.

But _he_ helped you fly, gave you wings with a perfect toss that was specific to your style and how you liked to hit it.

All around you were the people who would support you, the ones who would pick up a ball you missed, who would block the spikes you were too short to reach.

They were the players on _your_ side of the court, and together, you were stronger.

_Act IV._

A team was a family.

That’s what you always thought, that’s what you would describe it as.

But not everyone thought the same way.

Kitagawa Daiichi was a great team, full of strong players and ways to improve yourself. But they weren’t exactly a family.

They were practice partners, people who helped you with the drills, people who pushed you to your limit to force the best out of you. But the sense of camaraderie wasn’t there, the bonds that held the team together weren’t strong enough.

You trained together, practiced together, but you were still mere acquaintances.

x.x.x.x.x

The third year of middle school came and went, and you watched Oikawa get recommendations from strong schools all around. You even saw one labelled “Shiratorizawa”, but his brow had furrowed and he had thrown it into the bin so fast that you almost weren’t sure.

The two of you ended up at Aoba Jousai instead. A powerhouse school, top four in the prefecture, but still weaker than Shiratorizawa.

You didn’t mind. The team there was more focused, with stricter ideals and trainings, but the atmosphere was slightly different. There were many boys on the team when you first joined, but little by little, they began quitting, or coming so infrequently that it was just you and Oikawa and two other troublemakers left of the first years.

Maybe it was because you were such a small group, but the four of you grew impossibly close. The other two joked around too much for your liking, but they trained as hard and didn’t mind staying back when you couldn’t drag Oikawa away.

All of you made the first string at the same time, which was good. What wasn’t, was that all of them grew taller than you in your second year. Their teasing was terrible, but they did listen to you when you reminded them to take care of themselves, and you worked well together.

It was different from KitaIchi, because here, you felt a sense of belonging, a sense of warmth and friendship, a sense of closeness that you had only ever found in Oikawa before.

 _This_ , you thought, _is what a team should be like._

Second year brought more promising players; steady libero Watari, calm setter Yahaba and the wildcard Kyoutani. They shone the brightest out of all the first years, so maybe that was why coaching them in their plays was more fulfilling than teaching the juniors at Kitagawa Daiichi. You thought that maybe, it was also because of the maturity of high school.

The Spring InterHigh came and left. As was with your first year, you couldn’t beat Shiratorizawa.

It wasn’t because Aoba Jousai was weak. One did not make the top four in the prefecture by being weak. But somehow, it wasn’t enough. You weren’t strong enough.

Many members of the team cried that day, and looking around at them, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t just you. Everyone tried their best. Everyone was strong, and together you were stronger. But your heart was not convinced.

On the bus ride back, Oikawa hooked your pinky in his and swore that _Next year, with me as captain and you as ace, we_ will _beat them._

You were encouraged, but had to remind him that your positions were not confirmed yet.

Third year rolled in, your last chance, your last year to play with a team you gelled well with, a team that was worth fighting for. You were surprised to see Kindaichi and Kunimi again, and just as surprised to see no Kageyama.

But that didn’t matter to you. It was your job to take charge of the team you already had and groom them into fierce fighters.

Because they weren’t just your team; they were your family, and they deserved wings that could take them to the sky.

_Act V._

Playing against Karasuno with their freak duo was always a surprise and a treat. There were few teams that heightened the competitive spirit in your team members as much (Shiratorizawa did not count).

But if you lost, this would be your _last_ match, your _last_ play with this team before you had to retire to focus on your studies. The score could tip either way at any moment, and exhaustion was setting in.

One second, no– Less.

A split second, a slow reaction, the ball bouncing out of bounds, the volley finally broken.

Cheers rose from the side donning black and orange, while your teal and white backs slumped.

It was your last match, the last point, and you had lost it.

_Act VI._

Tokyo was different from Miyagi in so many ways.

The hustle and bustle of traffic, the bright city lights, the buildings so tall they touched the sky. The sounds that floated out of arcades and bars and convenience stores, a never-ending melody around the clock.

The university campus was huge, bigger than Aoba Jousai, buzzing with too many students all rushing to class or club activities. The classes were different, lecture halls with seats stacked high on a slope, the lecturer droning on and on without caring if you were listening or not.

The volleyball club was different.

Strong players from around the country, bigger and better built, with reflexes more honed than yours. Some faces you recognised – the guy with the dual hair colours, the guy with the bedhead hair, Karasuno’s grey-haired setter.

But the face you looked for wasn’t there, and you had to slap yourself because you had forgotten. Again.

 _He_ wouldn’t be there, because you had insisted that you didn’t need to be at the same university.

So he had taken the sports scholarship and was at a university down the road with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and you would only see his ruffled brown hair at the end of the day and early in the morning at your shared apartment.

Watching the people who would be your new team, you felt an invisible hand clamp down on your throat.

You weren’t sure if you could play without him.

_Act VII._

_Squeak. Whoosh._

“SUGAAA!!”

_PAM!_

“Yeah!”

“Nice spike, Bokuto!”

“Hey hey hey! C'mon, Kuroo, tell me I’m the best!”

“I’ll tell you that if we _win,_ owlhead.”

The ball was tossed your way. “Iwaizumi, your serve.”

_Inhale, exhale._

_Whoosh. Pak. Thump._

“Nice!”

“Give them another one!”

You caught the ball and looked up, eyeing the opponents across the net to decide on who to aim for. Your gaze swept over the players, only to meet narrowed brown eyes. Now that you were aware of _him,_ the tension from across the court was palpable.

You smirked slightly, and tossed the ball into the air.

x.x.x.x.x

“Thank you for a good game!”

You moved down the line, shaking hands with each member of the opposing team, praising their plays. When a slim hand slid into yours, you looked up, a slight smile on your face. He returned your smile in the same way, face drawn with fatigue but eyes sparkling.

“You played well.”

“You, too. Your serves have gotten better.”

You shrugged. “I learnt from the best.” You smirked at him and he ducked his head, cheeks dusted pink.

“Iwa-chan is being nice. It’s weird.”

“I hardly see you, dumbass. I can be nice if I want. Isn’t this the first time we’ve ever played against each other?”

His voice was soft. “Yeah, it is.”

“Oi, stop making eyes at each other and move.”

Your hand slid out of his, but not before you squeezed it, your heart filled with too many emotions. Your eyes broke contact, sliding to another pair 0.4cm higher.

“Makki. Good game.”

_Act VIII._

Every year, every season, every change of tide. Each new change brought new experiences, new faces, new people to work with, play with, do battle with, and win with. Each team you were on was drastically different from the previous one, and no play was exactly the same.

There were six people on a volleyball team, five other people on the same side of the net as you. Once, you thought that you would play with the same setter as you always had, but circumstances were never that kind.

But no matter the situation, no matter the circumstance, no matter the trouble that you went through trying to piece a good team together, it didn’t change the fact that whoever they were, they were still _your_ teammates, _your_ allies on this side of the net.

And you wouldn’t give up that connection for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> I made another misleading title I think. Sorry.


End file.
